Scattered Seeds (7 page)

Chapter 9

By the end of the third week,
The Charming Hannah’s
sole cargo seemed to be indignity. Thompson’s pre-voyage assurances proved to be as reliable as a glass wheel. Not a single passenger had been allowed on deck since the hatch closed in Derry, except for the Pennock boy, whose lifeless body had been ripped from his mother’s arms and carried up the stairs for a swift burial at sea. Daily thimbles of brandy never appeared, and the water provided for them was black and full of drowned worms. The paltry rations delivered by
Hannah
’s
barefooted crew remained untouched in the barrels at the heads of the tables, passengers either too sick or too parched to touch the salty stuff.

The chamber pots and makeshift privy fashioned by the passengers under the stairs were in continuous use. Hunger and the stench of sickness pressed everyone into the berths, where rainwater seeped through the deck to soak them. Children, too weak to cry, stared vacantly from their mothers’ bosoms. The middle-aged grew elderly, and the elderly, ancient. Countless souls murmured in delirium as loved ones—and occasionally complete strangers—mopped their sweaty foreheads. The sea shook up the water in
Hannah
’s bilge, raising a fetid odor that burned their eyes and nostrils.

Neither Henry nor Father hungered under such conditions, but they forced themselves to eat, supplementing their diet with Thomas’s raisins and the dried nettles brought from home. They could hardly call it food, but the bittersweet concoction enabled them to fare better than most.

Rumors threaded like filthy ribbons through the berths. Some passengers worried that Captain McElwain conserved the provisions because gales blew them off course. Others conjectured that he stowed too little food in the first place. Having seen the barrels in the cook’s storeroom, Henry knew better.

Besides, their proximity to the cook’s cabin meant they caught the occasional scent of cooked food. Somewhere, someone ingested hot meals, but not in steerage.

Henry sat cross-legged in the berth with a borrowed dough bowl clamped between his knees. He picked the worst of the worms out of the water it held.

His father sat on the berth’s rail waiting for Henry to shave off the rest of his sparse hair. His eyes had lost their sparkle in recent days, and his usually ruddy cheeks were peaked.

Henry wet a remnant of soap offered by a fellow passenger, and its lavender scent brought tears to his eyes. He lathered his father’s head and drew the razor across his scalp, which was red and flaky from scratching at unwelcome companions.

When he’d finished the job, he sat at the edge of their berth while Father searched for a spot to dump the dirty water. He smelled his hands, savoring the scent of cleanliness and noticing a burning in his chest as he inhaled. Oh, to have fresh air.

He stared at the hatch and wished it would open.

Miraculously, it did.

A humid gust of air coiled down the stairs as Reed, the brig’s second mate, and his two companions, with neckerchiefs covering their mouths and noses, delivered the day’s victuals and a cask of small beer. They dropped the cask and crate and turned to leave.

Father blocked their way, looking like a man who had been boiled headfirst. “See here, is there naught ye can do to improve our situation? Ye can claim no misunderstanding about the misery suffered here. By the cloots o’er your very noses, ye betray your knowledge of our difficulty. Many have been sick for a fortnight.” He gestured toward a coughing girl two berths over. “That wain needs fresh air and a hot meal.” He pointed to a man across the aisle. “And that man is as close to death as he can be.”

Reed faced him, and his usually cheerful expression turned somber. “I’m sorry, but the last gale did some damage, and the carpenter is makin’ repairs. Only sailors aboveboard until she’s spotty dog an’ the cap’n’s confident he’s made up for lost time.”

“But the seas feel calm. These folk will die.”

“I’m sorry, but there’s naught I can do. We are sailing as fast as we dare, but we’re two men down. Last gale took ’em.” He dropped his gaze.

“I am sorry for your loss, but can ye at least gi’ us something to hope for, mayhap a guess as to how many days until we may be allowed on deck?”

A look of sympathy crossed Reed’s face. He shook his head.

Henry slid out of the berth and stood on weak legs. “At the very least, could ye let the hatch open so we may have more than a fleeting moment of fresh air?”

“I’m sorry, lad. The mate says it only opens to empty the pots and deliver the victuals.”

“Empty the pots?” Henry pointed at the puddles under the berths. “Does it look like the chamber pots are being emptied?”

Father scowled. “Few men would abuse an animal like this, let alone people.”

Reed leaned in to whisper. “I wish there was more I could do, but I’m under orders—”

Father pointed to a woman quaking in spite of her shawl. “I’ll wager ye would nae care so much about your orders if that poor creature was your maw.” He looked again to the coughing girl. “Or if that lassie there was your daughter.”

Reed followed his gaze to the girl whose eyes hid in dark circles on her ashen face. “I’ve three little ones of me own.” He pulled his neckerchief off his weak chin. “I’ll tell ye what. I’ll ask the mate if we can let the ’atch open for a bit, an’ I’ll see to them chamber pots.”

“Can ye not ask the captain himsel’?” Henry asked. Asking the first mate would be a waste of time.

“Afraid not, but I’ll try an’ ask ’im when the cap’n’s within earshot, will that do?”

Reed could offer no more without endangering his own position—or maybe even his hide. Sailors adhered to a strict hierarchy, Henry knew. One who gave the slightest hint of malcontent or insubordination did so at great risk, even on a merchant vessel. There was little point in pleading further.

When the sailors departed and battened the hatch, Henry and his father made their way to the table near the Pattersons.

Mary sat in the shadows of their berth with her back against the side of the brig, apparently feeling better.

He wondered if lice had caused her to doff her cap. Trying not to be obvious, he marveled at her freed hair, as reflective as a raven’s back. She would hardly notice him staring, enraptured as she was by the young man in the berth next to hers. Henry wondered who he was. He looked shifty, and already, Henry didn’t like him.

A clammy Patterson dropped onto the bench, his checked shirt open to his midriff. He wore no stockings or shoes. His head looked too large for his neck. Shoulders that boasted hard muscle only weeks ago now resembled plucked chicken wings.

“I must speak plainly,” he said, his voice diminutive and wavering. His lips were cracked, and they stuck together as he spoke. His breath smelled like the inside of a kettle. “I fear I have grievously wronged my Mary.”

“Henry,” Father said, “fetch our good friend some small beer.”

Henry obeyed, setting a full tankard on the table in front of Patterson, who held up a palm and shook his head. “I canny. Guts will nae tolerate it. I can keep naught doon or in. Such indignity . . . I had nae foreseen this.”

“Can ye not try to sip a wee bit of it?” Even Henry knew some was better than none. “Ye really must try.”

“I’m done, lads. I feel it as surely as the coming rain.” His eyes welled with tears. “I am nae afraid to die, mind, but . . . what’s to become of my Mary? What fate have I condemned her to?” He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. “Please, God, let me die afore another week passes.”

“Nay, Patterson, enough of that talk,” Father said.

James rubbed his wrists. “The most I can hope for now is that the Lord takes me afore the halfway mark and spares my wain the cost of my passage on top of hers. We are a month at sea; it may already be too late.”

“Nay, man, ye have to fight. Sure, we’re all in a bad way, but naught stays the same. The boat is set to rights. The weather must be fair. Mayhap Captain McElwain will permit us aboveboard on the morrow. Ye’ll take some sun, a hot meal, fresh sea air—”

“Nay, hear me, McConnell, I shall ne’er feel the sun’s rays on my leather again, and the only light I’m like to see is that which radiates from our Lord and Savior when He greets me at the gates.”

By James Patterson’s blue fingertips, Henry knew the man was probably right.

James coughed. “My Mary, she’ll be all alone in the world, wi’ no way hame. I know she is nae your responsibility, but—”

“Cast aside your worries,” Father said. “I’ll do what I can for her.”

Henry wondered if Mary knew the bleakness of her future. He’d ask her, but the lovesick dimwit in the berth next to hers was making sheep’s eyes and yammering about the inner workings of clocks. Henry doubted he could pry in a word.

Mayhap that ginger-haired pinhead will look oot for her and save us the trouble.

Mary glanced at Henry, and he looked away, his cheeks stinging. She didn’t deserve it, but he considered whether he should sell the torc to pay for her fare. He was about to suggest it when the hatch banged open and Thompson thundered down the stairs.

“McAdams!” He headed straight for them.

Father met him nose to nose in the aisle, his fists balled and the glint back in his eyes.

Thompson gave him a shove. “Oh, you’ll fight me, will you? Go on then, lay a single slap on me an’ I’ll ’ave your son in irons afore your knuckles is done fumpin’.”

Father clenched and unclenched his fists, but said nothing.

“I ’ear you been belly-achin’ like a little old fishwife. Full fare or not, if I was you, I’d keep my norf an’ souf closed, I would.”

“Only a coward says naught while good folk suffer. I demand to speak wi’ the captain!”

“You demand, do you, you baldy, foul-mouthed, Oirish bog-trotter? I’m the law on this ’ere brig. Demand away, an’ see where it gets your laddie ’ere.”

Father glanced at Henry and said no more.

“You don’t look like you’re suffering none. I wonder if you’re the filthy jack who broke into the cook’s store an’ stole the rum last week.” He jabbed a tar-stained finger into Father’s chest. “An’ there’s some raisins and apples missing, too. Mayhap those ill-begotten victuals is what’s keeping you ’ealthier than other folk.”

Father glared. “How could I lift anything from the cook’s storeroom when I’m locked doon here in this filthy hellhole, ye stupid bastard?”

Henry suffered no shock at his father’s foul language, only delight that he’d put Thompson in his place.

Thompson, who must have realized the idiocy of his accusation, turned the color of beetroot. He looked at Henry, who stood. “I’ll open that ’atch when I’m good and ready, you understand me, laddie boy?”

Henry could barely hear Thompson over the roaring in his ears. His fingernails dug into his palms, and he fought the urge to strike the first mate. He couldn’t risk being stripped for lashing; Thompson would discover the torc.

“Aye, sir,” he said, shaking with repressed fury.

“Right then.” Thompson spun on his heels and marched away. “The ’atch stays battened down an’ I’ll ’ear no more of it!”

But the hatch didn’t stay closed. During the fourth and fifth weeks at sea, it opened repeatedly, delivering the dead—including James Patterson—into the fresh air that would have saved them.

Chapter 10

Henry tossed and turned, seeking comfort and finding none, his hips and shoulders bruised from weeks of lying on the hard berth. No amount of his father’s pleading brought Mary and her things to their berth. Henry wondered if her decision to stay away had anything to do with the English bollocks next to her. Had the lad convinced her that he was of no mean account? Surely, she could tell by his attire that he no longer belonged to high society. No matter how posh he talked, his tatters exposed a father’s condemnation. No gentleman sent his son away in rags without reason. For all they knew, the lad had slit his family’s throats and run.

“Father,” Henry muttered to his father, who lay next to him, barefooted and stripped to his open shirt and breeches. “Are ye sleeping?”

“Canny. Too bloody hot.”

“What do ye make of the lad in the berth next to Mary’s?”

“Donald? The English fellow? Dunno. Seems like a sound enough skin. Why do ye ask?”

“Nay reason.”

Henry stared past his own bare toes to a row of stockings hanging on a line in the aisle. A few hardy women pegged them there yesterday after using precious water and their last bits of soap to clean the berths and launder what they could. Their men—those few still strong enough—spent the same hours emptying buckets and discussing the possibility of an uprising.

“Father?” Henry picked up the sack that once contained Thomas’s raisins and tossed it against the berth above him. He caught it on the way down.

“Aye, Henry.”

“Ye sleeping yet?” He tossed and caught the empty sack again.

“Aye, I get the best sleep when someone’s tossing things into the air beside me.” His laugh turned to a worrying cough. “What is it, lad?”

“What happened to Mary’s maw?”

“She died bringing Mary into the world.”

So this would be Mary’s first sting of death, then.

“Do ye think she knows she’ll need to serve her father’s indenture, too?”

“I’d wager she does. Why do ye not ask her yoursel’?”

Henry wanted to, and nearly did several times, but the gulpin in the berth next to hers never shut his English yap. Henry fisted the sack and threw it violently against the berth. It bounced onto his father, who snatched it away before he could recover it.

Father rose onto an elbow. “What’s bothering ye, lad?”

“Naught.”

“That so?”

“I just feel sorry for her is all. Ye know, ’cause of Maw.” It wasn’t far from the truth. Henry envisioned the pallbearers lowering his mother’s corpse into the Irish soil. He remembered thinking there could be nothing worse in the world.

He knew better now.

Although he’d never see his mother’s grave again, there was peace in knowing where she rested. They gave her a funeral, complete with mourners to water her grave with their tears. Hundreds of neighbors and friends extended sympathy.

The stone on his mother’s grave served as evidence of her death—tangible proof for those moments when he failed to believe she was dead. Poor Mary lacked even that small comfort. James was simply here one minute and gone the next, his funeral nothing more than an unceremonious toss over a brig’s rail.

The hatch squealed open. Henry sat up, fury rising as he waited for Thompson’s “daily treasure hunt” for “dead Oirish scum.” Thompson took obvious pleasure in collecting the dead, tearing lifeless children from the arms of mothers and pummeling any man who stood in his way.

Thompson descended the stairs without his usual minions. He wore an unfamiliar expression, his head hanging like an abused pup’s.

A sunburned man who could only be Captain McElwain kicked him down the last two steps.

“God’s grace, the stench down here is unbearable!” He slapped the back of Thompson’s head and then covered his nose and mouth with his hand. “Former leftenant in His Majesty’s service indeed. You, sir, are unfit to serve aboard an Iroquois canoe! Look at this disgraceful mess! We’re not manning a blackbirder here, you incompetent . . . Why, it looks like the pots have not been emptied in a fortnight!” He slapped Thompson again. “You are relieved of duty! I’ll see you in irons!”

Reed and a few other sailors came below.

Captain McElwain shoved Thompson into the second mate. “Reed, put this rum-soaked piece of shit in irons.”

“Aye, sir.” Reed cast a triumphant glance at Henry. He took Thompson’s arm.

“Belay that, Reed. The wind has gone, and I have need of oarsmen. Lay out the towing warps and man the boats. Give Thompson a crack at the oars.”

“We cannot ’ope to make any speed by oars alone, sir.”

“Damn your eyes, Reed, question my command again and I’ll have you flogged alongside Thompson!”

Reed’s cheer vanquished. “Aye, sir.”

“We may not make any speed, but at the very least, we will suffer no shift in our course. Alternate the crews on the hour.” The captain shot a malevolent look at Thompson. “Except for this heap of stacked turds. He rows without reprieve until the wind returns, and then he shall rest in irons for his reward.”

“Aye, sir.” Reed dragged Thompson up the stairs.

“You there,” Captain McElwain said to an idle hand. “Get these people above with their belongings at once, and bring all available men down here to clean this mess up. There’ll be no Sabbath for any of you today. You can pray while you scrub. Tell Cookie to get a stew on the boil. And cast the lines. Let’s have some fresh fish.”

The captain whirled about. “Tops’ls and jib only!” He climbed the stairs and disappeared through the hatch.

The passengers stirred and looked at each other in astonished silence, their rising optimism nearly tangible. Without setting a single foot on the lowest stair tread leading to the open hatch, they already showed signs of recovery.

Henry marveled at the healing power of hope. He searched in vain for Mary’s face. He guessed she still cried, and something—he knew not what—made him long to know her thoughts on the welcome news.

“I’m away to talk to Mary.”

“Good. See if ye can talk her into coming above wi’ us. She really must, for her health. Her pain is fresh, so be gentle, Henry. Bring her belongings, if ye can. E’erything needs a good airing oot.”

A stream of unsteady passengers making their way toward the hatches crowded the aisle.

He found Mary as expected, facedown and weeping. Like all of the women, she wore nothing but her shift, trading propriety for comfort. It no longer shocked him to see women without their gowns and caps, but Mary’s uncovered hair never failed to hold him rapt. He stared at it, his heart thudding in his chest. He licked his lips, smoothed back his own hair, and took a deep breath.

“Mary.” He climbed into her berth to sit beside her.

She turned her face to him, and he braced himself for insult, but her puffy eyes assured him none would come. They were intensely blue, but vacant. She had no fight left.

Without warning, she sat up and wrapped her arms around his neck.

He froze, unsure what to do. He did not expect her body to be so soft, and although her hair probably crawled with lice, it smelled of rosewater. He slowly circled his arms around her, flattened his hands across her back, and tightened his embrace. He nearly gasped when he felt her breasts crush against him. He hadn’t realized she’d become a woman.

She felt small and vulnerable, and her surprising embrace sent blood racing to his groin. He shifted so she wouldn’t discover his hardness and concentrated on his desire to protect her. She made him feel like a man, one who would honor his promise to her father, even if it meant selling a priceless family heirloom. He thought briefly of the gold at his neck and wondered if she could feel it.

He leaned back and reluctantly peeled her arms away. “Did ye hear the news? That hateful Thompson earned himsel’ a bit of bother. The captain wants us to go above. Ye should come.”

She twisted the linen covering her thighs. Grief lay on her face like a blacksmith’s apron.

“Mary, we are free of this coffin. Please come. Please.” He wrenched the fabric from her fingers and took her hands in his. “Your father would want ye to come up.”

“Can you not see that she does not wish to go?” someone asked with a voice smacking of refinement and education. Mary’s ginger-haired bollocks, who nestled his things into a basket.

“Mind your own affairs,” Henry spat at him, “or I’ll shove thon basket straight up your English hole!” He meant it.

The lad backed away and said no more.

His voice returned to gentleness. “Come, Mary, all is nae lost. My father promised yours that he’d look after ye. I intend to help him. Ye’re not alone. Ye ne’er will be. Come.”

“Henry, do ye not know that my life is o’er?”

“Nay, it is nae. Come, all will seem brighter after a touch of sunlight.”

“We boarded as redemptioners. Father died past the halfway point. I’ll need to serve his indenture, as well as my own.”

So, she did know.

He wanted to comfort her, to assure her somehow. He was sorely tempted to mention the torc, to say that he would sell it and buy her freedom. “Take heart, Mary. We’ll find a way to pay your fare. Come now, where is that spirited lassie who mocks my pitiable claithes?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Ye know, the lassie who stared e’ery Sabbath at my threadbare breeks and holey stockings?”

“What are ye on about, Henry McConnell?” She wiped her eyes, which shone with a bit of their former spark.

“Och, Mary, come now. E’ery Sabbath, I saw ye staring.”

“Nay, Henry, I . . .” Her cheeks flushed. “I would ne’er . . .”

Henry chuckled. “Ye did, Mary. E’ery Sabbath!”

“Nay . . . Well, aye, I did look, right enough, but I was, I was merely noticing that ye’d . . . That is to say that I was . . . Ne’er ye mind. Think what ye want.”

Henry thought he might float off the berth. Was she about to say she had been admiring him? That she’d noticed he’d grown into a man?

“Well, it does nae matter now, Mary. Those days and that chapel are far behind us, so mayhap we should start anew.”

She studied his face before speaking. “It seems hardly right to start anew when my life is ending.” Her gaze fell to her lap again.

“I’m sure ye know I lost my maw when I was young. I remember the pain of it. I thought I’d ne’er smile again, but eventually, I did. Felt guilty about it the first few times it happened, mind. Did nae seem right to smile when she could nae—and ne’er would again. But that will go away, ye’ll see.”

Her chin quivered, and she swallowed hard.

“I know for certain your father would nae want ye to gi’ up, Mary.”

“I know.”

“Your father agonized that he’d let ye doon . . . that he’d failed ye. Ye have to right his wrong. To honor him, mind. So he can rest knowing he did nae fail ye after all. I know ye’re a fine spinner. At least, ye bragged about it often enough.” He smiled, as did she, weakly. “And now instead of two folks working to pay your fare, ye have three. My father and I promised, Mary. We are honorable men.”

“Why, Henry? Why would ye do this?”

He dared not utter the real reason; he had yet to come to terms with it. Instead, he fabricated an answer she might accept. “Ye saved our skins in Derry. It is only right that we repay your kindness.”

She could barely utter her response. “I hardly know what to say.”

“There’s naught to say. Just meet us halfway so our effort is nae wasted. Find the fight. I know ye’re made of tougher stock than this.”

“I am.”

“Come on, then.” He shook her shoulders. “Gather up your things afore we get a good soaking from the hands sent to wash doon the berths.” He held out his hand to her.

She gave him a feeble smile and took it.